


Sleep Talking

by passcrow



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passcrow/pseuds/passcrow
Summary: “More than a hundred years later and you still say the name in your sleep.”





	Sleep Talking

“More than a hundred years later and you still say the name in your sleep.” John Henry Holliday started at her words, eyes flicking up to see hers open. He'd been watching her sleep, well, he'd thought she was asleep. Contrary. He should have expected it from her.

“Who, darlin'?” He wasn't far out of sleep himself and his words were a slurry of rounded vowels, Georgia blurred and roughened. Wynonna blinked at him and stretched like a cat. Doc watched the play of her muscles, appreciating the way she put her entire body into the motion, a lazy reach that spread her even farther out along his mattress. She'd lined their bodied under the covers that fell at their hips. Her skin was cool against his warmth, the dissonance of their temperatures still a surprise to him as he automatically moved closer.

Wynonna studied the way the shadows from the old barn windows ghosted over his face, the way sleep still blurred his features. His eyes were tired and muddled but they were still a piercing blue and focused entirely on her. Even naked in the barely dawn light, their bodies warm and comfortable under a pile of quilts he was studying her as intently as he ever studied anyone over a hand of cards.

“Kate.” There had been a pause in her voice, a hesitation that he noticed only because there was very little about her that was tentative, especially when he was already hard against her hip and he could see the arousal in the set of her lips and the darkness of her eyes.

“Ah.” Quickly, so quickly it was almost eerie, he leaned over her and scooped a pack of cigarillos off the bedside table. “She's long in her grave, Wynonna. As I should be.” His fingers were nimble as he plucked a cigar free and planted it in the corner of his lip. The flare of the cheap yellow plastic Bic seemed wrong somehow, unnatural in conjunction with his calloused cardsharp, gunslinger's hands, but the smell of the small cigar, oak and apple, was entirely him. “Waverly showed me an encyclopedia entry on the computer.” He was careful with the word, rounding it out on an exhale of blued smoke. “I always thought she'd have children.” The last was in a sad, musing tone unlike his normal voice.

Wynonna watched him draw back another gulp of smoke, watched the way his brow still furrowed on an deep breath as if expecting pain from diseased lungs. “We crashed together like rogue waves at high tide, darlin', leaving utter chaos in our wake.”

“How much of it is true?” Doc sipped at another inhale, his jaw firming as she stroked a hand flat from the middle of his chest to the side of his hip, fingers tracing the path of an ancient bullet. There was appreciation in her eyes as she followed the line of him down under the blankets, teasing and digging onto the flat muscle of his thigh.

“About Kate?” He laughed. “She was a wonderful woman but she she could be a vile cunt in her cups. And Katie and I were always in our cups.” Wynonna shook her head slightly before rolling over on top of him, shifting her body lazily against his before settling back down still, her long limbs mirroring his. Her eyes were even darker this close, her face just above his. She removed the butt from his lips and settled it in the old mason jar he used as an ashtray.

“About Wyatt. About what happened.” Her lips hovered just above his, her breath warm against his mustache. “How much of it is true and how much of it is Hollywood bullshit?”

“All of it. None of it. It's history. Does it even matter anymore, little girl?” There were days when he couldn't even remember what color their eyes were, those Earp eyes that every goddamned one of them had shared and there were days when he could remember everything, right down to the way Wyatt talked to his goddamned horse like a man and how Morgan laughed like a child. She had their eyes, those Earp eyes. Sometimes, in the dark, when she moved above him and all he saw were those eyes it felt like he was a century younger. A century younger with ruined lungs and Wyatt Earp's hands on his chest, the blunt fingers trying to match their breathing as even as the movement of their hips.

“Yes. Whatever he did ruined my family, Doc.” Wynonna stalled his argument with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue. For several minutes he couldn't breathe, couldn't pull in more than a slip of air at a time, and most of those secondhand from her gasped exhales. She was sweeter than the consumption that had almost killed him but she made him just as breathless, could lay him out just as easily. “Everyone talks about how great and noble he was. If he was so good, so golden, then why the fuck are the rest of us cursed?” He recognized the taste of blood between them easily, a known tang of metal and salt that had haunted him nearly to the grave. She'd bitten her anger onto his lips, tearing his skin even as her face remained solidly impassive. Then and there he promised himself that he'd never play her for stakes that mattered.

“Wyatt was a good man.” Doc spoke carefully, slowly, tongue tracing the bite that marred the corner of his mouth. “He was my friend, and he didn't flinch away from helpin' me when I was coughin' up blood in the street.” Unknowingly her gaze moved from his eyes to the blood that stained his lips. “He was also a rigid man. Mulish, jackass stubborn. When he was set on somethin', didn't matter, right or wrong, he was gonna see it through.” He'd been too rigid to bend and when Morgan had died, he'd broken, smashed into a million shards and used those shattered bits to cut down everyone responsible. “He did not drink and he did not whore,” Doc smiled a bit but it was twisted, sardonic. “...much.” His tongue swiped over his lip again and she watched him swallow back the little rill of blood. “He believed in god and he didn't understand a single goddamn thing about politics which is why he always ended up out of a job and on the road, the Earp boys lookin' for the 'Merican dream.” The flare in his voice matched the roll of his eyes. “He stood with his brothers and he stood for them. He wasn't the smartest man, nor was he the best but what he did, he did for family, Wynonna.”

“Did you love him?” It hadn't been 'Kate' he'd said in his sleep, he could see it in her face.

“Hell, I loved them all, even Virgil and I doubt even that bastard's wife could say the same.” Doc smiled and lifted a hand to her throat, his fingers sliding around the back of her neck and sifting into dark curls. “Love them all.” He amended, cradling her skull with his large palm. “Seems I have no choice in the matter.”

“You don't love me.” Wynonna was flustered by his admission, by the softness in his normally hard hands. “Jesus, Doc. You don't even know me.”

“I know you, darlin'.” He sighed. When he looked at her again, there was something ancient in his eyes, a century of near craziness and something that made her think of struggling breath and hacking coughs. She wondered if he'd looked this way to Kate. To Wyatt. If he'd had ancient, ageless, frantic eyes even before he'd been left in that well, if it was a mark of his dying life or of his life after death. “I've known you my whole life.”

“I'm not Wyatt.” So serious, Wynonna Earp without a quip. “John Henry, I'm the Earp heir, but I am not Wyatt Earp.” Her eyes were solemn, almost sad.

“No. You are most definitely not.” His fingers slid inside her almost before she'd even felt him move, a gentle press into her body as he watched her eyes. “I am not a stupid man, darlin'.” The skill he had with a deck of cards or a gun was nothing compared to what he was doing to her body. She'd read something in a book when she was younger, something about him playing piano. She had no doubt it was true as he flicked, rubbed, and tapped her towards orgasm, the other hand still steady at the back of her head. “Well, I do not know that I am a man anymore, but the fact remains that whatever I may be, it is not stupid.”

“Stop talking.” Wynonna gasped, her entire body suddenly very much not under her control. “Shut up and focus.” He was lithe and strong and, goddamn it, laughing. Wynonna shuddered when he shifted his hips, a heated hardness replacing his fingers inside her, filling her.

Darlin', I am very much able to talk and make love to you at the same time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I love me some Doc Holliday. And I've always wanted to write him in the modern day. But seriously, his character is so ripe for whump that I couldn't turn away.  
> I don't have their voices down, especially Wynonna's but I had to write some John Henry. I did this in a few hours so it might not make sense, if you find horrendous errors, let me know!  
> I don't know if there is more, but if there is, I'll let you know. ;)


End file.
